Saving the Devil
by HattersRedAlice
Summary: This is set quiet literally after Sherlock jumps. Melaine Holmes is as clever, cunning as her brothers and every bit as deadly. Working as one of Mycrofts top agents,her eldest brother has instructed her to get to know Moriarty,become a part of his world to figure out how to bring him down. To save their Sherlock. But things never go as planned when there is a Holmes involved.
1. Chapter 1

"Melaine, you'll have to follow him," her brother instructed. "No matter what he does to Sherlock you cannot intervene. You know that right?"

Melaine sighed and threw her head back, her long, curly black hair tumbling over the back of the red sitting chair in her brothers private chambers. "Good GOD Mycroft, I DO understand the assignment. You can be positively boorish at times."

"Be serious for once in your life child!" Mycroft Holmes glared at his baby sister. She and Sherlock were so similar he was almost afraid for her. "I helped you get out of America, don't make me put you back there to deal with that scum on your own. You know I will!"

Her head shot up and she shot him an icy stare. Her eyes were not like her brothers cutting blue green, but rather a dark purple with gold around the iris. She had their mothers eyes, her small frame as well. "We're not to talk about America," she hissed between her teeth. "That was the agreement."

"Your agreement," Mycroft said in a bored and lazy voice. "Not mine." He had no idea how he had been saddled with two unruly younger siblings. He almost considered asking their mother if Sherlock and Melaine had a different father, but he knew that that would upset her.

"I understand what to do Mycroft," Melaine sat up quickly, uncrossing her legs and slipping her dark purple heels back on.

"But you need to leave Sherlock alone," Mycroft started, he thumped his hand on his desk, getting her attention. "We are a part of this game, but for his protection only."

Melaine took a deep shaky breath, trying to keep her anger in check. She was about to slap her brother, and perhaps drop kick him across the room. "Sherlock is my brother as well. If he is in danger I will save him. Just as I would save you."

"You mustn't," Mycroft said sadly, his voice soft.

"Why!?" Melaine exploded, she jumped up with a cat like grace. Unlike her brothers she was rather small, they always loomed over her growing up. Until the day she couldn't stand the family anymore and ran away to America. "What are you hiding from me Mycroft?"

Mycroft sighed, sitting back and looking out the window. "Melaine, when the day comes. And you will know the day when it happens. You must be there. You must befriend him."

She sunk back into the plush red chair. It was raining out, coming down in sheets. She knew Mycroft was wondering, as was she, where Sherlock and John where right now. Just as she was about to speak Mycrofts phone buzzed angrily. He glanced down at it and shook his head, a small smile playing along his lips. "Whats he done now?" Melaine asked.

"He just broke into an army base," Mycroft answered, busily texting back whomever was on the other end. He looked back up at his little sister. He didn't want to put her in danger, and he didn't want to have her cross paths with that devil of a man. But she was the only person for the job. The only one, like him, who understood what had to be done for their brother. No one else, besides John, could be trusted. And even with this he knew Melaine would not fail whereas John most likely would.

Not that there was anything wrong with John, he was their brothers best friend. More like a brother then Mycroft ever was to Sherlock. And Sherlock was forever fretting over Melaine, they had never indulged him in the knowledge of what had happened in America and that she was now one of Mycrofts top agents. But John had a ferocious loyalty to Sherlock, whereas Mycroft and Melaine knew when to dry the line with Sherlock and not allow him to overindulge.

Melaine snapped her fingers, bringing her brother back. "You know you can't tell John," she knew exactly what her brother was thinking. If she was in a room with them she always knew. It was as if the three of them shared a brain while in the same room with each other.

"Yes. I know," Mycroft looked up from his phone. "You must get to know Moriarty. No matter what happens dear sister." He stood up and walked around his desk. He towered over her, then scooped her into a hug. Both brothers were very different to Melaine, they never treated her as they did each other. "Be careful."

"Get off Mycroft!" She yelled, slamming her heel down on his foot. He grimaced and pulled away from her quite quickly. He handed her a cell phone. Only to be used by her, only to be contacted by him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

Melaine turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Her brother staring after her. He knew that all the men in the building were also watching her walk away, he shuddered, thinking of her with Sherlocks, and now their families enemy. But it must be done. He laughed, knowing that Jim Moriarty would have no idea what hit him.

She watched as her brother fell, his body hitting the ground. She had watched the two men fight, watched as Moriarty shot himself, watched as Sherlock called John. She knew what he must do and it broke her heart. To hear the catch in his voice as he told John he had made it all up. To a Holmes, that was a lie that could never be uttered. It was ugly and dirty on her own tongue as she repeated his words softly. Searing them into her soul.

She had no idea how he was doing it, but she knew he wasn't dead. But she couldn't think about that now. She had to go over and clean up the monster who had turned her brother into a liar to his best friend. If he hadn't already been dead she would have killed him herself.

Melaine stood up, shaking, tears in her lavender eyes and walked over to Moriarty. She shivered as the rain began, cutting through her nurses scrubs. She was surprised Sherlock hadn't noticed her as she walked the halls of . She tended to stay away from him, but she always watched him from afar. Hoping that he might notice. But he never did. Or perhaps he did but didn't let on, he knew, unlike Mycroft, what it meant to be so deep into something that you mustn't give the other person away. But that didn't mean she didn't miss her older brother.

She leaned down and placed her finger tips on Jim's wrist. As she did she realized he was still breathing, the rise and fall of his chest was subtle, hidden. She almost wondered if he was in fact, an actor. As he had tried to make Sherlock believe.

She screamed a girly scream as Moriarty's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His dark brown eyes popping open, a small smile playing on his lips. She too was a very good actress as well. "Oh my God!" she gasped, using her American accent she had perfected while she had been over there. "Thank God you're alive!"

He fluttered his eyelashes, he seemed out of it, spacey almost. He was very handsome, with his short dark hair and hint of stubble. She let herself sigh, making sure he knew she thought him attractive. "Where did that man go?" his voice was smooth and buttery, but she still herd the hard edge of steel amongst the sweetness he thrust at her.

"The man who killed himself?" she asked. "Where you up here trying to save him?"

A very small smirk was hidden at the corner of Moriarty's mouth. "Yes! He was a friend of mine! He sent me a text saying he wanted to end it all!"

"Oh my God. You're so brave to try to save him," she sighed, smiling sweetly at him. "Its almost heroic! And did he hit you? Are you hurt?"

He sat up slowly, then let Melaine pull him to his feet. "He hit me once, while I was trying to pull him from the edge. He must have knocked me out," he paused and looked down at her. "What are you doing up here?"

Melaine put a brave face on, "I saw him, standing on the edge. I'm a nurse and thought I could help." She stepped closer to him, the heat of his body streaming into her. He was in a coat while she was not. "I was to late…"she trailed off, grasping his hand.

He looked down, shocked, trying to figure out what this woman was doing. She was very beautiful, the raindrops clinging to her long eyelashes. Her eyes were stunning, he wanted to swim in them. Her lips were jutted out just slightly, full and luscious, he could feel the attraction between them. She might be a fun distraction for awhile. This could be very fun indeed.

"Come on!" she pulled him away from the edge, giving one final glance down at the pavement below. The choked sob that erupted from her was not fake. She watched as John tried to get to her brother, his face haggard and worn. The Soldier was about to fall. "We have to get you away before the police arrive."

"Whats that?" Moriarty asked, surprised again by this small woman, she pulled on him, dragging him to the door.

"The police will come! And they'll question you!" she yelled, pulling him into the lift, pulling him right beside her. Their arms pressed together. "Do you honestly want the police to talk to you?"

"No," Moriarty said quietly. "I would rather not talk to the police."

The lift dinged open and Melaine pulled him out, "Hey Joe!" she said to the guard at the door. "Have you met my boyfriend Frankie?" She danced to a stop, pulling Moriarty close to her and wrapping her arms around his waist. She grinned and looked up at him.

"Why no Miss Wright," the guard put a hand out, Moriarty shook it quickly, the put his arms around Melaine. He grinned a slow, seductive smile down at her.

"Well," Melaine giggled. "Now you have and we're off to grab a beer!" She pulled Moriarty after her as she danced out of the building. When they were out she let go of his hand, but kept hold of his fingertips. She looked around, everywhere but at her brother as he was being wheeled into the hospital. She caught a glimpse of John on the ground, broken and battered. All she wanted to do was go to him. But she knew that whatever her brothers plan had been, it was there to protect them all.

She knew when she pulled the phone Mycroft had given to her out of her pocket that there would be a text from Sherlock on there. From Mycroft as well. Each of them had these special phones, that only they could access and what they used to communicate with one another. She knew she couldn't look at that text until she was no where near Moriarty.

The Police were coming, so she hurried them up the street. They had to wait at a light, which was perfect. She grabbed Moriarty by the coat and pulled him down. Kissing him as if the world was about to end.

He sputtered and tried pulling away. Though he wondered what it might be like to kiss this girl he didn't want her to be the one in charge of this game. He tried to pull away, but she was quite strong. In the end he gave up and kissed her back, sliding his hands along her back, under her scrubs.

"hey!" she gasped, pulling away as the police ran into the building. "I was only kissing you because I didn't want the police to see you!" Her heart had nearly stopped when Lestrade had raced by her. She knew if he had seen her, her cover would have been blown.

"What do you mean?" Moriarty asked, his eyes were closed and his voice had gone deeper. He wanted to lean down and kiss her again. It had been a long time since he had been so surprised by a woman.

"Come on Idiot," she slapped him on the arm playfully. "My apartments just up here."

He finally opened his eyes and looked down at her. There was something in those eyes, he didn't know what she kept hidden so well. But he would find out. This woman would become his new project. He hoped it didn't end as badly as Sherlock had. It would be a shame to loose such a beautiful specimen such as her.

They crossed the street, she still held his hand tightly, and pulled him into a dark archway. She felt his pulse quicken as well as his breath. She smirked, she knew exactly what he was thinking. All men were so stupid when they didn't allow their heads to do their thinking. This was going to be childsplay.

They ran up the stairs to the third floor flats. Quickly she unlocked the door and pulled him inside. Mycroft had set her up with a decent flat. Decent for a nurse that is. It was only one room, a small kitchen in one corner, her bed under one of the two windows. She had collected odds and ends that most American girls living in London would have. She had to admit she quite liked her flat actually.

She had a Doctor Who teapot and mug that she left out beside her laptop and three Union Jack pillows. One on her bed, one on her small couch and the other at her dressing table. There were other odds and ends, a poster from the London Olympics, and one small picture of Tom Hiddleston from The Hollow Crown beside her bed.

"Oh crap," she sighed, as she closed the door, she walked across the room and pushed the Tom picture over. "Ignore my silly American fangirling." She giggled, then pulled her wet scrubs shirt off. She turned just slightly, looking over her shoulder at Moriarty who just stood there like a deer in headlights. "Do you want to get out of those wet clothes?"

Americans, Moriarty thought, as he watched her go behind a pretty patterned partition. He loved how uninhibited they were. He shrugged off his wet jacket and walked to the window, looking down as more police headed towards St. Barts. Something soft hit him in the back of the head and he turned around just in time to catch a pair of pants flying through the air at him.

"Whats your name by the way?" Melaine asked, her head peaking around the partition. "I'm Evelyn Wright, Evelyn of Maryland. Now change before you catch a cold!"

Moriarty looked down at his wet clothing. He had no idea how this day had become so different. First he won. He won against the almighty Sherlock Holmes and now he found himself in a naked womans flat. He changed quickly, not really knowing why, but knowing that he must. He realized how unlike himself this woman was making him. "My name is Richard. Richard Brook."

Melaine took a slow, deep breath, forcing her nerves to calm down. She let it out slowly, so he wouldn't hear her. Her phone was on the small table beside her. There were two texts on there. One from each brother. She powered the phone off, then plastered a grin on her face and came out from behind her partition. She was dressed as any young, attractive American woman would who had a handsome man in their flat. Short boy shorts, though hers were lacy and black and a purple tank top with a very low neckline. She pulled on a small cardigan and thanked Mycroft for making sure this flat had proper heating.

"Good to meet you ," she laughed, and gracefully sat down on her couch. She patted the empty spot beside her and giggled. "Sorry about the fit of the clothing! I met this one really handsome British guy at a Bar," she paused. "Crap, pub. You guys call them pubs here. And I invited him over."

"Did he leave with nothing on?" Moriarty slid into the spot beside her. It was rather on the small side and their legs were pressing up against each other.

Melaine threw her head back in silent laughter. He neck curving gracefully, her curly dark hair cascading over the edge of the couch in waves of darkness. She gave him a side long glance, her eyes peeking out through those bloody lashes of hers. "He left only in his boxers and jacket." She looked him up and down and licked her lips. "He was much smaller then you."

Moriarty grinned, and looked down at the tshirt he wore. It strained against his chest. This previous man had been a horrible dresser. "I hoped you washed them before allowing me to put them on." He drawled, then started to stand up. "I should really get going."

"Oh please don't!" Melaine grabbed his wrist. "I think I'm slightly in shock after seeing that man fall," she pulled a blanket loosely around her shoulders. But then she jumped up, and pushed him back down on the couch. "I'll make us some tea."

He shuddered, knowing very well that the American version of tea was nothing like that of proper English tea. But he watched her as she walked towards the small kitchen, watched as she gracefully put the kettle on to boil, and then try unsuccessfully to reach for mugs on her top shelf. He watched her shirt rise over her back, the silk fabric skimming it loosely.

"Can you come help me get these off of the top shelf?" she stood on her very tip toes as a ballet dancer might and tried to reach for it.

His body and mind were not working on the same level at this point. It was as if he were having an out of body experience. He felt himself stand and go over to her, placing his hand on the small of her back and reaching over her to grab two mugs from the top shelf. "Why do you put them that high up?"

"My brother did, the last time he was here," Melaine said casually, then cursed at herself. Having that hand on her back had distracted her. The thrill that ran through her was as strong as it had been while she had worked in America and just as dangerous. She hadn't meant to talk about any sort of siblings.

To save the moment she quickly turned, noticing that his own shirt was riding up. She had bought these clothes just for him, buying them on the small side to make sure he felt larger in them. She slid her hands over his flat stomach and heard the hitch in his breath. She was very surprised that she could break him this easily.

But apparently she hadn't, or she did, just not as she thought. He grabbed her around the waist and shoved her against the wall, one hand reaching for her throat as his mouth descended down on hers. A thrill went through her. This was the game she liked to play. A game neither of her brothers would ever understand, though she knew Sherlock had always been a close second. Even though she hated this man, hated him for what she had done to her family, even she had to admit he was a very good snog.

Moriarty couldn't stand it anymore, he couldn't allow this girl to play him. He knew there was something hidden under there, he could sense it. He knew that this might bring it out, bring the tiger to the surface. His hand drifted down her stomach and he heard her stifle a moan, then he heard a click. He pulled away from her as she held his very own gun to his chin. His lips slightly parted, his brown eyes sparkling.

"Don't think for one moment that I didn't know who you were Mr. Moriarty," she purred, running her hand down his ribcage.

He opened his eyes and stared into hers. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded, the edge of steel back in his voice, "And how did you know I had a gun?" he reached to grab for it, but she twisted under him, her heel catching the back of his leg, bringing him down hard on to her floor.

She gracefully lowered herself over him, straddling him. She put the safety back on the gun and threw it at her couch. It landed with a soft plop, Moriarty watched as it landed then inhaled sharply as she ran the flat side of a very sharp, rather small knife over his throat. He could feel a small trickle of blood as she pushed it lightly to his neck.

"The Great Consulting Criminal, being reduced to a puddle on an American girls floor," her voice was light and breathy, her eyes blazing. "You're not the only one who can play games."

"How do you know who I am?" Moriarty demanded, she didn't even flinch as he tried to get out from under her. She was very strong for such a small thing. "Who are you?"

"You're a clever boy," she ran the knife up one of his arms, letting it slide perfectly over his brachialartery, all she desired was to cut it open and let him bleed to death, never truly knowing who she was. But instead she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Deduce me!" Then bit his ear, tugging at it.

With one final effort he managed to throw her off of him, though it did make him a bit sad. So he pinned her beneath him, pushing her own arms up over her head. He looked taken aback as grinned up at him. "How do you like it on the other foot?" he drawled, her knife in his hand as he trailed it over her stomach. This day had started out very boring indeed, but it continued to get better and better.

"Oh Mr. Moriarty," she sighed, "You think I will so easily be broken?" She sat up slightly to his horror, allowing the knife to push past her skin. She didn't make a sound, or flinch. She was utterly amazing. He could tell she was as crazy as he was. He pulled the knife out of her flesh. "I am unlike anyone you have ever met."

"You can call me Jim," he jumped up, pulling her up after him, then pulled her tank top up, the small wound was bleeding only slightly. Grabbing a tea towel he pressed it to her stomach. "I hadn't planned on cutting you."

She looked down, slightly shocked as he held the towel to her. She didn't think he would be so kind, or have those puppy dog eyes that seemed to beg her forgiveness. "For Gods sake man, it doesn't even hurt!" she was lying of course, when the blade had sunk into her flesh it had hurt like hell. But she had been trained never to let the pain show.

At that moment the kettle screamed loudly, neither of them were ready for that and they both jumped a mile. They looked at eachother and laughed. The tension seeming to melt away for the moment. Jim went and turned the kettle off and went about making tea. She watched as he moved seamlessly from one task to another. It was very fluid.

**Saw Melaine with a man on the street. They were kissing. Does she know about Sherlock? – L**

**Of course she does Lestrade. Did you bother her? – M**

**No. You gave strict instructions not to bother her…or Sherlock for that matter. And look how that turned out. – L**

**Everything is fine. – M**

**How can it be fine!? Your brother is dead! Your sister was right there! I'm sure she saw him. – L**

**Melaine can take care of herself. – M**

**Do none of you care for each other? – L**


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft looked up in surprise at the soft knock on the door, John Watson stood there. A shadow of the man he had been when first they met. His blue eyes were lost and empty, his blonde hair ruffled and disheveled. It looked like he hadn't slept or bathed since the death of Sherlock.

"Afternoon," John sighed, then sat in the plush red chair. He looked up at Myrcoft, really looked at him. He had hoped there would be an ounce of compassion in his eyes. But he only saw the cold hard stare of a very powerful man. "Does Melaine know?"

Mycroft silently rolled his eyes and bit his tongue before he said some choice words that shouldn't be spoken infront of a grieving man. His sister had a way of getting under any mans skin and staying there, even when she let them go she was still there. Which is why it had been so bloody hard to get her out of America. He had so wished Sherlock had been able to go retrieve their little sister, but instead it had fallen to him to bring her back so she in turn could save Sherlock.

"She does indeed know," Mycroft nodded.

**Come. John is here. I need you to take care of this. – M**

Melaine blinked as the sunlight shone through her window. She looked at the text from her brother and then over at the man that was asleep on her bed. She had allowed him to sleep there because she was so much shorter then she was. In his sleep he no longer looked like the psyhopath that he truly was. In his sleep she wondered if she could love a man. That thought took her by surprise, so instead of facing it she rolled off the couch and stretched. Moriarty shifted, she knew he was awake, she pretending to be asleep.

"I have to go out on an errand," she said rather loudly. "You should stay here. The police are still milling around."

Moriarty sat up and stared at Melaine. The previous night had not been what he wanted. She had shut herself down after their little cat and mouse play. Shut down after he had tried to help her after he had cut her. Or rather she had cut herself, she had been the one to move closer to the blade. That hadn't been his fault.

"Where are you going?" he drawled, then bit his lip as she went behind that bloody partition of hers. "Why did you save me?"

Melaine sighed silently and came around to her bed. She had dressed in her best undergarments, black knickers with lavender trim and matching bra. She had rolled black silk stockings on and clipped them up with garters, her hair tumbling down her back she bit her lip. She knew she would have to keep his attention one way or another, otherwise he would get bored and most likely try to kill her.

"Does a girl need a reason to save a gentleman?" she purred, climbing onto the bed like a cat, she grabbed one of his arms, and thrust it to the headboard. Quickly she locked him in a pair of handcuffs and grinned at him, her eyes sparkling, "Now be a good boy and stay."

The look on his face was priceless, oh, if only Sherlock and Mycroft could see this madman now. He looked from her to the handcuffs. She was one hundred percent certain that as soon as she left the flat he would be out of them. She also knew he would most likely follow her. It would be a bit hard to evade him, he mustn't see where she was going.

Damn Mycroft, he should never have allowed John to see him. She pulled a lace black dress over her head, still staring dangerously at Moriarty. Then gracefully pinned her hair up, so that only a few curls fell free to frame her porcelain face, she looked at Moriarty's reflection in the mirror as she applied her lipstick, then turned and looked at him once again.

He began to speak, but she jumped up and touched a finger to his lips. His tongue darted out and licked her finger, then smirked. "No talking, it'll ruin the fun I'm having with you." She kissed him on the edge of his mouth, leaving pink lip stain on the corner. Then grabbed her jacket and walked out the door.

Moriarty twisted to look at the cuff that pinned him to the bed, on her bedside table Melaine had left a bobby pin. He laughed, wondering why she had been so incredibly stupid to leave that lying there. He realized she might not know him quite as well as she thought she did. Which puzzled him. He could get nothing off of her, he had no idea who this strange woman really was. She was almost ghost like, hidden amongst the shadows.

Quickly he undid the lock, pulling his wrist free. He had to follow her, she practically SCREAMED for him to follow her. And he would _acquiesce_to that desire. Jumping up he grabbed his own jacket, slipped his phone into his pocket and quickly left the flat.

**Why did you leave me all alone Darling? – M**

Melaine glanced down at the phone she allowed regular people to call and text her at. He must have unlocked it while she slept. She didn't mind though, that's why she left it out.

**I see you got free of the handcuffs. – E**

She continued walking down the streets of London, dancing through the crowds, no one seemed to take notice of her. She knew he followed her, and she grinned. Loosing him would be fun, she knew he would be frantic to find her. When she was finished with John and Mycroft she would allow Moriarty to stumble upon her quite unexpectedly.

**Handcuffs cannot contain me. – M**

**Is that so? I'll have to get better ones to try out on you. – E**

She saw a woman ahead of her, they were about the same build, both with their hair up, same clothing on. Well, at least the stockings and the jacket were the same. They had different bags though, Melaine's was red while this woman carried a yellow one. She swooped towards the woman and without her even noticing she switched their bags. Later on she would send it back to her, but for now she needed to loose Moriarty.

He glanced around, all these boring people, going about their endlessly boring lives. It was enough to make a man go crazy. And indeed it had made him just that. He spotted Melaine's red bag and followed her silently, taking no notice of the woman in the shadows beside him.

Melaine grinned and turned a different corner. No wonder Sherlock thought Moriarty under him. He really had no clue what he was doing. She stepped into her brothers building and took a deep, shaky breath. Seeing John now would be quite hard. It would break her heart. She had met him only a handful of times, but was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

She gobbled up every bit of information her brother texted to her about their adventures. Secretly wishing she had her own John Watson, sometimes secretly wishing that he would ask her out, that they would fall madly in love and be married. Then they would all be a family. But those dreams were fairytales of a girl who didn't truly exist. She would never be good enough for John Watson, and he would never pluck up the courage to ask her out, considering she was his best friends baby sister.


	3. Chapter 3

Taking her Holmes phone out of the zippered pocket inside her jacket she texted Mycroft.

**Coming up the back way. – M**

The guards looked up at her, one was about to stop her before the other, a fellow she knew, grabbed his arm and shook his head. He pointed at something behind their desk. She knew it was a picture of her, with her name at it. She screamed silently, cursing Mycroft once again. Her picture should not be that easy for the world to see. She slid behind the corner and pushed a button that was placed low in the wall.

A door slid open to reveal a lift. A small flat screen popped out of the front. She placed her palm on the board, a blue light reading her handprint and the doors opened slowly. A sweet voice rang above her, Mycrofts new assistant. He was forever going through them. "Welcome Miss Holmes. Your brother is expecting you."

"Yes," Melaine drawled. "I'm well aware of that." How could he keep hiring these flippant women was beyond her.

The doors binged softly and slid open, she was in a hallway behind Mycrofts private office. She stopped, her hand shaking slightly as she turned the knob. John stood up as soon as she opened the door, he was slightly hunched over and the pain in his eyes was unbearable. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, then, taking a deep breath she walked in, closing the door behind her quietly.

"Right then," Mycroft stood, glanced at his sister and then back at John. In less then a moment Melaine was holding John in her arms, even though he was taller then her, he looked small today. "I'll give you two a few moments."

Melaine, who was every bit as smart as her brothers, and more deadly contained the one thing that they both lacked. A heart. Of course Sherlock had changed since he met John, and both brothers loved their sister and mother. But they had never gotten the hang of showing people how much they cared. He quietly let the room, knowing Melaine would do a much better job at fixing John then he ever could.

John gasped when she walked in. Her resemblance to Sherlock was more then he ever remembered. Though she was shorter then her brother, but quite a lot actually, and her eyes were purple and not greenish-blue like Sherlocks. They could almost be the same person, but he was not attracted to Sherlock as he was to Melaine.

He remembered when they first met, it was a few weeks after he had moved into 221B. She had quite literally rushed into the flat, obviously having her own key. Sherlock was gone one some flight of fancy or another and John was only in a very small towel. A grin was playing across her beautiful face and her eyes lit up the moment she saw him.

"You must be John!" she gasped, out of breath. "Is Sherlock here?"

"A…A…Are you his girlfriend?" he managed to stutter out. He knew he looked quite the fool with his hair sticking up everywhere.

"Heavens no!" she laughed, her voice was silky and sweet, almost like a purr. He wanted to listen to her speak forever. She walked over to him, or rather prowled, then circled him. He flinched when she ran a fingertip over the scar near his shoulder. "Was it really very bad over there?" her voice was hushed.

John stood straighter, the soldier in him coming out. "I wouldn't want to bore you with the details." She continued to run her fingers over his different scar, she sank to the floor and traced the scar on his leg. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked down as the mass o f curly dark hair, he began to blink quickly.

"For Gods sake Melaine," Sherlock came bursting in. "Leave John alone!"

John looked up at Sherlock, then down at the woman. Instantly he knew they were related. She jumped up gracefully and gave her brother a wicked grin. "What if John doesn't want me to leave him alone?" She trailed her fingers over the muscles in his arms. He bit on the inside of his mouth, his eyes locking on the wall behind Sherlocks head.

"You're making him uncomfortable," Sherlock sighed. "See! Its written all over his face, and he's as rigid as a bloody statue."

Melaine stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. "I shouldn't blink then? Should I?" John turned and stared down at her, his mouth slightly open. He had never desired a woman like this before.

"John, you're allowing my sister to turn you into a puddle on the floor," Sherlock glared at his sister. She just stuck her tongue out at him, then smiled sweetly at John.

"Right then," John turned stiffly away from her, wishing Sherlock would just leave. "I think I'll go change again. Wait!" he yelped. "Your SISTER!? Sherlock! She's your sister!" he looked down at the small girl. "You're his sister!" and pulled away from her as if she were on fire, sitting down quickly.

"Well now you've gone and done it Sher," Melaine sighed and sat gracefully into Johns lap. "Now I wont be able to play with him any longer." She looked back at John, arching her neck gracefully.

"He's not your toy Mel," Sherlock sat just as gracefully as she had, into his own sitting chair, holding his palms together as if in prayer, his dark curls falling into his eyes.

John didn't quite know what to do with himself, he was still in his towel mind you and his hands were awkwardly placed by his torso. He didn't know what to do with them. "Stop twitching Doctor!" Melaine gasped. "You can put your arms on the arm rests." So he did just that.

"So you're Sherlocks sister?" John cleared his throat, he felt Sherlocks eyes burning on him. But he didn't seem to care. Not when he was looking at her.

"Melaine Holmes," she smiled, her face lighting up. "The little sister they never tell anyone about. Sherlock is always saying he's the black sheep in the family," she glanced at her brother. "But really I am."

"She's really not," Sherlock shifted. "She has Mycroft," he paused. "And I guess myself as well wrapped around her finger."

"This one?" she held up her pinky finger and showed it to John. "That's Sherlocks finger," then she lifted her middle finger and frowned. "That's Mycrofts," and finally lifted her ring finger. "You can have that one."

"For GODS sake Melaine!" Sherlock jumped up and grabbed his sister by the arm. "Leave John alone. He doesn't want to play your silly little games!" He roughly pulled her up and thrust her into his own chair, then began pacing. "What American made you into this person?"

"You know perfectly well that it wasn't America or an American who made me this way," She hissed through her teeth, her eyes blazing, Sherlock flinched away. "We three are cut from the same cloth Brother of Mine. Look in the mirror. We are exactly the same."

Melaine stood up as Sherlock came towards her. John noticed there was something in Sherlocks eyes, a sadness he had never seen before. He wondered what the Holmes were like as children. Clearly Sherlock loved his sister.

Melaine shoved Sherlock as he tried to grab her into an awkward hug. "Just remember who pulled you out," she shifted on her heel, leaned down and kissed John on the cheek. "Nice to meet you Doctor, you do own this finger so you know." She trailed it lightly over the scar on his arm. Then turned and left the two men staring at her.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock continued to stare after his sister. "She's not for you John. She broken."

"If that's the case then you and Mycroft are broken as well," John retorted. He threw on his dressing gown and ran down the stairs to follow Melaine. He was just about to run down the street to find her, when he saw her sitting on the steps. Her head in her hands. Bending down he sat beside her and wrapped a warm arm around her shoulder.

She looked up at John, he thought she might be crying. But her eyes were crystal clear, and dazzled him with a beautiful smile. "I guess this finger really does belong to you." Then she kissed him, softly and sweetly so as not to scare him. Then got up and walked away.

"He's gone Mel…"John gasped, tears streaming down his face. It broke her heart to see him like this. Tears were dripping slowly down her own face. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sherlock was alive. Whatever his game was, it was meant to protect John. She would not betray her brother by trying to tell John what might actually be going on.

"I know Darling," she gently pushed him to the chair. He sat down and pulled her into his lap. Then fumbled around in his jacket pocket, pulling an envelope out he handed it to her. She took it with shaking hands, her name was written on the thick blue envelope in Sherlocks stiff handwriting.

_My Dearest Sister,_

_If you are reading this it is most likely because I am dead, or perhaps missing. I put it in a place that would require someone to go through my room. I'm sure John or Mrs. Hudson found it. In any case, I'm glad they have given it to you. I have only this to say to my Guardian Angel, my darling sister:_

**_Till the stars had run away,_**

**_And the shadows eaten the moon._**

_Do not look for me. Do not work for Mycroft anymore…and lastly: Take care of our Doctor._

_Forever,_

_Sherlock_

Melaine closed her eyes and counted to five before she looked at John, his arms were around her, his head on her shoulder. "Where did you find this."

"In his coat pocket," John mumbled, then looked up at her with those sad blue eyes. "What does he say?"

"He quoted our favorite poem growing up. By Yeats," she sighed. She did not elaborate on the poem. John would know it meant something and she couldn't tell him.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you," John gazed at her. "But you never answered. I thought," his voice hitched, and he cleared his throat. "I thought perhaps something had happened to you as well. I couldn't bear to lose you both."

She bent down and kissed him, hungrily and with a need that surprised her. Whenever she was around John she was always taken by surprise. He kissed her back, returning the intensity, his hand grazing up her thigh and under her skirt, catching on one of her garters. He pulled away in surprise, and pushed up her skirt.

"Do you always wear garters?" he asked, his voice a bit ragged.

She laughed. "No Doctor, I do not always wear garters." Then she swooped down and kissed him again, Sherlock wasn't here to stop her this time around. Someone cleared their throat, that someone was Mycroft. John quickly pulled his hand off of Melaines thigh. "If its not one brother it's the other," she whispered into John's ear.

"I did not expect to find this…"Mycroft drifted off, staring daggers at John and his little sister. "Melaine, please go sit in my chair."

John pulled Melaine closer to him. "No, she stays here with me."

Melaine turned and looked at John. "Might I have one word with my brother alone?" she saw the sadness in his eyes. "Only a moment my Doctor."

He nodded stiffly and stood up, placing her delicately on the floor, the walked out of the room. Melaine looked up at Mycroft and handed him Sherlocks letter. Her brother scanned it quickly, crumpled it up and threw it in the blazing fire.

"Where is Moriarty?" he hissed.

"Frantically looking for me I suppose," she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why were you kissing John Watson like that?" Mycroft demanded.

"Wouldn't you just love to know," Melaine purred.

"I'd like to punch him in the jaw," Mycroft paced the room. "I cannot believe that Sherlock allowed this."

"He never did," she sighed. "But he's not here right now. And John needs me."

Mycroft whipped around. "Sherlock needs you. You need to do your job!" he yelled.

John opened the door and walked in, Mycroft stared at him


	5. Chapter 5

"Right then," Mycroft looked down at Melaine. "You know what must be done."

"What must be done?" John asked, looking between the brother and sister. He had a very bad feeling that this had to do with Sherlock. He strode over to Melaine and stood between her and her brother. "Are you putting your sister in harm's way?"

"She started it. Putting herself in harm's way," Mycroft barely said the words when John's fist met his face. He grimaced and shook his hand. Melaine grabbed it, and stroked it softly. He pulled her into his arms and glared at Mycroft on the ground.

"First you had Moriarty!" John yelled, "Then you gave him up! You released him!"

Melaine pushed forward, trying to untangle herself from John. "You had Moriarty!?" she was at her brother in two seconds, who was still trying to get up, and slapped him. "Sherlock died because you did NOTHING!?" Then she broke down, truly and utterly broken.

Mycroft just stared at her, trying to figure out what to do. He thought he had told her, thought she knew about Moriarty. He had never seen her break down like this before. Not a tear was dropped when he had rescued her from the greedy hands of the American Mob. At least no tears he had seen. Perhaps only Sherlock had seen them, that might explain the bit of poem he had written.

John was on the floor beside Melaine, sweeping her curls off of her tear stained face. His hands shaking, he had never seen her this way either. He knew about her past, and how she had returned home to care for Sherlock when he was struggling with the drug problems. But he hadn't realized that maybe Sherlock had helped her as well.

Melaine was struggling with her own sort of detox, just as Sherlock was. Both of their minds utterly locked in a battle with themselves. Sherlock had been a mess when she had arrived, hidden in his flat with his dirty spoons and small flames. She watched in the shadows as he wrapped the elastic cord above his elbow, flexed his hand and injected himself.

She stifled back a silent sob, oh how the Holmes children had fallen. Sherlock looked up, sadness pooled inside those beautiful aquamarine eyes. He saw her and uttered one word before he passed out. "Help."

Melaine had put him in bed after cleaning him up. She gathered all of his supplies and drugs, including his cigarettes and asked Mrs. Hudson to throw them out. Mrs. Hudson was very concerned for the youngest Holmes, she knew how strong Sherlock was, and how clever he was able to be to get people to buy him drugs.

"I'll be fine Mrs. Hudson ," Melaine leaned tiredly against the doorframe. Her brother was fighting nightmares in bed, and she had to return quickly to him. "Just don't bother us for a week or so. He'll be more human by then."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "You poor girl, coming back from America must have been very hard for you."

Melaine's eyes flashed and Mrs. Hudson took a step back. "Please don't bring up America, Mrs. Hudson." She closed her eyes and counted to ten, then she heard Sherlock moan loudly, then begin to cry. "I have to go."

She closed the door on Mrs. Hudson's face. She felt badly for it, but she knew the woman would understand. Then she quietly made her way to Sherlock who was tossing and turning. He was sweaty and his eyes were dilated as he stared at her, his lips cracked and peeling, his face ruddy and tarnished. She cried for herself and for her older brother then, as she got into bed beside him and let him wrap himself around her, gently tugging her hands through his dark hair.

A little while later she woke up with Sherlocks head on her stomach and Mycroft sitting across from them, a small frown on his face. "What do you want Mycroft?" She sighed, Sherlock cried out but went silent as soon as she began sweeping her fingers through his hair again. Like that mother had done to each of them when they were sick.

"I've just come to check up on his progress," he drawled, "And yours as well."

"Oh! Its bloody brilliant!" she laughed out, then struggled to keep the tears in. "How could you let him get this way!?"

"He started when you left." Mycroft said harshly.

"HAH!" She laughed, a lone tear escaping. She gently moved Sherlock's head to a pillow and hushed him quietly. Then she sprang up and pounced at her eldest brother, slapping him. "Do NOT turn this into something that I did!" her voice was low and hushed, but still she seethed.

"But its true," Mycroft opened and closed his mouth as a red handprint started to bloom on his cheek.

"You forced me out!" Melaine cried. "You know you did. Ever since I was little I tried to be better for you! I looked up to you! But you ignored me, one turn after the other," she paused. "I was beneath you. So finally I had enough," she threw her hands in the air. "And I had to leave. Sherlock understood."

"But like all men who become so very attached to you Melaine," Mycroft sighed, twiddling with his umbrella. "He was better for you. As was I."

Melaine turned and looked at him, fury in her eyes. Very slowly she only spoke two words. "Get. Out."

He sighed and stood up, turned and began walking out the door. "This isn't over."

"Is it ever?" She asked, going back to Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

Melaine circled Mycroft, she had pulled her gun out that was hidden in her garters. "I should just kill you now Mycroft." John jumped up and tried to grab the gun from her, but she just slapped his hand away. "No John, we'd be doing the Queen and Country a great service by getting rid of this git!"

Mycroft held up his hands. "Melaine, stop being dramatic. You know perfectly well that I did not know Moriarty would kill Sherlock! That's why you are doing what you are doing."

"What're you doing?" John asked, looking at Melaine and then back at Mycroft. "You have to tell me!"

Melaine closed her eyes and counted to ten, setting the safety back on the gun and putting it in her garter, she noticed as John's eyes grazed over her thigh, which made her grin. "I'm undercover as an American nurse, trying to get Mycroft to explain everything. And once he has we can take him down for murder."

John took a step back, blinking very quickly, with his hands behind his back he actually spat the words out. "Moriarty. Is. Alive?"

"You shouldn't have told him!?" Mycroft stood up majesticly, as only he could. "Why did you tell him?"

Melaine rolled her eyes and thrust a finger into her brothers chest. "Did you NOT just see us snogging over on your chair!?" she pointed at John and then the chair. "Of course John will ask me to go home with him, and what am I supposed to do? Say no? I love him Mycroft, but your to bloody thick to see that!"

"You?" John stared at her. "You love me?"

She glanced at him. "Of course I do John. Who could ever not love you?" her eyes softened, then she turned back to her brother. "And I do want to go home with him, but I can't now. Can I? I have to go seduce the bloody devil!"

"You have to seduce Moriarty?" John stepped closer to her. "No."

Mycroft looked down at them both. "She must. If only to clear Sherlock's name."

"You're all crazy!" John yelled. "The LOT of you! Insane!"

Melaine wrapped her arms around John. "I'm very good at what I do John. It shouldn't take me long."

He leaned his cheek against her head, still staring Mycroft down. "I'll never forgive you for this."

"Me!?" Melaine squeaked.

"No, not you darling," he kissed her quickly. "Your eldest brother." He took a deep breath, then pulled Melaine from his chest, holding her at arms length. "You've got to promise me that he means nothing to you. Moriarty. That you're doing all of this for Sherlock."

"Everything I do is for Sherlock," her voice was soft, "And for you John." She sighed. "And for bloody Mycroft."

"How did this even become a thing?" Mycroft asked, nodding at the two of them.

They both looked at each other and grinned.

John began banging on the pin and chip machine, trying to get it to accept his card. There was no milk or food really, of any kind in the flat and Sherlock had gone all broody and silent. So off he went to get the bloody milk once again. The last time it wouldn't take his card and he had left, this time he was going to make sure it worked.

"Here love," a voice purred in his ear, and delicate white hands slid a black card through the machine. He looked up and his breath hitched in his throat. So this is what it must feel like to Molly when she was around Sherlock. Breathless, star struck and utterly stupid.

"Melaine! What a pleasant surprise." He studdered. Damn his tongue, never working properly when she was around.

She grinned at him and grabbed the small bag and then his arm. "Come with me my Doctor!"

He would of course, follow her anywhere. Though he had no idea where he was going. "Sherlock's expecting me!"

"Of course he is," Melaine glanced back at him. "It was he who sent you out to get the milk I assume?"

John nodded, as she pulled him to the front of 221B. She lazily reached into his pants pocket and grasped his keys, grinning a cat like grin at him as she did. He had no idea what effect this woman had over him. It had to be the danger she presented, much like Sherlock did. But this was a completely different danger.

"But,' he started. "Sherlock's up there!"

She tugged him up the stairs and through their flat door. "No. He's not," she dropped the bag. "Mycroft's got him." She walked over to his bedroom, kicking off her heels. "This used to be my room you know."

"Sherlock told me," John shrugged off his jacket, she followed suit. "He's told me a lot about you actually."

Melaine rolled her eyes. "He would, wouldn't he? Did he tell you about America then?"

John shook his head and sat down in his chair. "No. He told me he couldn't tell me about that. That I was your story to tell."

Melaine slipped into Sherlock's chair, her legs arranged gracefully beneath her, her hands infront of her face as if she were praying, her eyes closed. John leaned forward, knowing the story was coming. He hadn't know until now how much he truly wanted to know. To be a part of her inner circle. A moment later she opened her eyes, they were breathtaking, sparkling and effervescent.

"It was two years before Sherlock started his," she paused, searching for the right words. Not able to find it she licked her lips and went on. "Drug problem. Mycroft had rejected me again and Sherlock was in his own little world. Our mother always seemed to back Mycroft. He was the head of the household, and being our Mother, that meant quite a lot.

I was done with them all, I'd had enough of the games. There were always games John. So I left. I headed to America. When I got there I found myself caught up in their…" she paused. "The underbelly of things. It was dangerous and exciting. Everything I never knew I craved. And I was beautiful and clever and British, so I instantly had an in with the men. They called me their little 007." She laughed, staring at John. She stood up and started pacing the room.

"I was in quite deep, amongst the drugs and the women and the crime. I don't think I truly knew how deep I was. And I had no idea that Mycroft was watching. Of course she was watching," She laughed, it was a harsh laugh. "And then one day I slipped down the rabbit hole." She was quiet for a moment, still pacing and not looking at John. How could she?

"I was in love with a man. His name was Robert. I actually saw myself settling down with him. He wasn't one of the bad guys, he had no idea who I really was. But he was a Politician, and the people I worked for wanted him dead. I couldn't stop John! It was like the drugs Sherlock took! I was addicted to them." She ran her hand over the cool steel of the refrigerator.

"So one night I lured him home," she continued. "And I extracted the information I needed from him. Then I killed him," she said simply, then turned to pace back to John. But he was there. Right in front of her, his blue eyes shining. "And he just asked me why…right before he died."


	7. Chapter 7

John pulled her into his arms as she began sobbing. He pulled her gently to his chair and gathered her into his lap, petting her hair. "We've all done horrible things in our past Melaine. I've killed men."

"In the war," she looked up at him. "Its quite different."

"Yes and no," he sighed, not knowing what to say to her. "I don't judge you, just as I don't judge Sherlock for being a junkie." Then he leaned down and kissed her. It was a slow, deep, gut-wrenching kiss. Her tears were gone in a second and she was straddling him, her fingers running delightedly up his bare chest, under his striped jumper.

He grunted as she pulled it up over his head, mussing his hair. Melaine pulled away and began kissing his scars, running her tongue over them. "Oh Mel," he groaned softly, his hands in her hair, he tugged her back to kissing him. He would defiantly not be writing about this in his blog.

She bit his bottom lip playfully and pulled back, she slowly began unbuttoning her blouse, teasing him. She was down to the third top button when he couldn't take it anymore and ripped it apart, throwing it to the ground and trailing his fingers down her back. She arched her neck as he began trailing kisses over her shoulders.

"Did you get the milk?" a mildly amused Sherlock asked from within the doorframe.

Melaine shrieked and slammed her chest against Johns. He let out a rush of breath and glared up at Sherlock. "Yes! Yes I did get the Bloody milk!"

"And apparently you picked up a little tart along the way!" Sherlock smirked at his sister. She glared daggers at her older brother.

"If I weren't…"John trailed off. "I would punch you in the face for saying that! She's your sister Sherlock."

"No need to get up on my account," Sherlock drawled and sat down in his own chair, then grinned. "She is my sister, and I love her dearly. And you John, are trying to defile this lovely specimen of womanhood!" He jumped up and shot over to them, his arms placed on either side of John chair. "What are your intentions to my sister Watson?"

Melaine looked up at her brother and grinned. "His intentions were to have a fantastic shag all over this flat!"

John sunk lower into his chair, his face and ears turning a scarlet red. "I'm so sorry."

"Who are you sorry to?" Sherlock asked, backing off and going back to sit in his chair.

"No one! Everyone!" John looked up into Melaine's eyes, she swooped down and kissed him gently, pulling on his lower lip again, God how that turned him on.

"I'm a very good shag," she whispered, her cool breath tickling his ear, he groaned softly, and then she turned to her brother. "Can you hand me a shirt?"

"Your shirt is ripped to shreds," Sherlock glanced down at the floor, then flicked back to John. He picked up John's jumper and handed it to her. Quickly she put it on, and twisted in John's arms so she was facing Sherlock. John grinned, because Melaine looked adorable in his clothing.

"Melaine, you have to go to him," Mycroft sighed and exited the room. "Both of you, out of my office in five minutes or I'm calling security. Give him the key to the house flat. I'll have some men escort him there."

Melaine looked at John, worry seated deep within the frown lines around her sparkling eyes. "Are you angry with me?"

"Of course not," John sighed. "Remember, I thought something had happened to you as well."

She paced, never taking her eyes off of him. "Hopefully I can be rather quick about it. I just have to get him to say the words. So we can make sure everyone knows that Sherlock Holmes was real, and Rich Brooke was a fake!"

"Calm down Mel," John stepped forward and grabbed her. "I understand!"

"I know," she sighed, her voice muffled because her face was pressing into his chest. "John, I can't breathe!"

He held her at arms length. "Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?"

Melaine bit her bottom lip and squeaked. "Yes."

"When all of this is over," he began, throwing his hands in the air. "When all of our sodding problems have been solved. Will you marry me?"

She laughed, or cried. You couldn't really tell, but the range of emotions that played across her face were tantalizing and sweet. She stepped forward and kissed John on the cheek. "Yes."

"Right then," he nodded and then kissed her. "Do I need to ask Mycroft for permission?"

"Defiantly not," Melaine whispered as she kissed his neck. She slipped her keys to the family flat into his pocket, perhaps grazing him a bit to long. She longed to utter the words, But you'll need to ask Sherlock. But she couldn't.

"Stop that," he huffed. "Or I'll just have to have you here in Mycrofts office!"

Melaine giggled, then pulled her hand out. "I guess that wouldn't be a good idea. When you get into the flat my room is the one at the end of the hall." She bit his bottom lip and tugged. "Make yourself comfortable Sailor!"

"I wont be," he griped her in a hug. "Until you're there." He paused, trying to figure out how to say what he was about to say. "Please don't sleep with Moriarty."

"Never," he felt her shake her head, then he let her go and put his jacket on, then helped her into her own jacket. He didn't want to let her go. Not after what happened to Sherlock, he didn't want her to go to that man, he was so afraid he would lose his heart all over again.

She went to the hidden back door, then turned and looked at John. "Do you love me John?"

"With every fiber of my being," he nodded, they both exited at the same time, closing the doors softly. Both were being led into the darkness, one to the Devil, the other to Sanctuary.

Melaine's hand flew up to her mouth, she forgot that the one place Sherlock might be right now is at the family flat. Neither she nor Mycroft had thought of that, but they also hadn't planned for any of this to happen.

"Melaine!" she heard her brother yell, he had opened the back door.

"I know," Melaine sighed. "Make sure your men take him the long way. I'll get there first."

"I'll have them take him by 221B," Mycroft sighed. "He needs to gather some things I'm sure. We wouldn't want him walking around the flat with nothing on."

"I'd like that!" Melaine smirked, her brother sent her a glare that would freeze the Thames. She turned and left quickly before he could say anything.

It didn't take her long to get to the family flat, Mycroft enjoyed having it near incase he needed to stay there overnight instead of going all the way his own home. She opened the door quietly, not really knowing what to expect.

The flat was as it always was, large and open. Much more modern then you might think. Very open floor plan, with high vaulted ceilings and exposed brickwork. They had bought the whole top floor and turned it into one flat. This is where their mother came to when she came to call on them.

There he was, staring straight at her. They just stared at each other for a moment. Both speechless. And then she was flying across the room into his open arms. His face was cut, right above his eyebrow, and along his neck. She knew they were probably self inflicted, so he would bare the scars later.

"You've been with John," Sherlock said mildly, as Melaine got up and walked over to the kitchen. She pulled out the first aid kit and wetted a washcloth. She sat down beside Sherlock again and began cleaning his head, he grimaced.

"John's on his way here," She looked straight into those aquamarine eyes of his. She noticed him flinch, but it was well hidden.

"Why the hell is he coming to this flat Mel?" his voice was steady, but she could see how angry he was.

She wouldn't back down to him. "Why did you jump?" she asked simply.

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, pursing his lips. "That's neither here nor there."

"We don't have a lot of time," she continued to clean him up. Putting a bandage of the cut above his eye. "I don't know what you have to do now Sherlock. Where this path leads. But know that I will take care of him."

"You're always taking care of other people Mel," Sherlock took her hand as she was dabbing at his neck. "Who will be there to take care of you?"

"Taking care of those I love is what I was meant to do," she tried to give him a happy smile. "I'm the Consulting Caregiver."

Sherlock touched her face lightly and she moved into his touch, a tear rolling gently down her cheek. Sherlock brushed it away and pulled her into a tight hug. "When I come back, when all of this is over. I'll take care of you. Like you did for me."

Melaine laughed and pulled away. "Will it ever truly end?"

"Most likely not," they heard a key slide into the lock. A look of pure panic crossed Sherlock's face. "He can't know."

Together they both jumped up and scampered into the hallway, John caught a glimpse of short dark curls and a turned up coat collar. His heart stopped, it couldn't be. Sherlock was in the morgue, he had seen him. Molly had been there, she was so much stronger then they all gave credit. He had no idea how she had kept it all together.

"Sherlock?" his voice was hopeful and tragic at the same time. He heard nothing, maybe it was all in his head. Yes, it had to be. He was overtired, he dropped his bag on the floor and began walking towards the hall way.

"Be careful Sherlock," Melaine whispered as he sat crouched on the steps outside of her window, she kissed him on the check and shut the window. She quickly tore off her dress and grabbed her short black silk dressing robe that lay on her bed, it would have to do. She gathered her hair up so it would look short and then opened the door. John stood on the other side, blinking.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock and John walked out of the bank, they were laughing like little boys, John doing a strange little dance around a women who almost ran into him. The woman grabbed him round the waist, and twisted him in a graceful circle, leaving Sherlock just staring at the two of them.

Melaine looked up at John from under her fedora that was placed at an angle over her dark curls. Her eyes were heavily lined and made the amethyst pop out, it made her skin paler looking as well. John just stared at her, his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my poor Doctor!" She released him, her hand reaching up to the cut beside his eye. "I hear you were impersonating my brother," she looked over at Sherlock and arched an eyebrow.

"Oh sod off Mel," Sherlock sighed.

"I will not!" she stamped her foot like a child, took a deep breath and counted to ten. "I'd like to take the Doctor here out for a drink."

"You can call me John," John grumbled, moving closer to her. He hoped she would caress his face again.

"She calls you Doctor because she's obsessed with Doctor Who!" Sherlock blurted out, staring down at Melaine. He couldn't believe how insufferable she could be. Always following him around, wanting to be involved. Of course he loved her, but sometimes she could be such a little sister.

"John, darling," she turned to John, she hadn't realized he would be standing right there, so close to her. She gently grabbed his wrist. "Would you care to have a drink with me?"

"Oh God yes," John nodded.

"Right then," she looked over her shoulder at her brother and gave him a look. "We're going to have a drink." She pushed her arm through John's, running her fingertips over his wrist. "You're not invited big brother."

She knew he would most likely come after them, he would give them awhile, but he would come eventually. She knew her brother all to well. Sherlock hated to be left out, and she couldn't blame him. The two of them had done almost everything together growing up, and how they loved to torment Mycroft.

"Where are we going?" John asked, he was trying to think straight as she continued to play her fingers over his hand.

"To the Fox, near ," Melaine smiled.

It didn't take them that long to walk there, she knew Sherlock was shadowing them. The billow of his massive coat wasn't hard to miss. The Fox was a small pub, most of the staff from was there. It was low key and always had nice quiet areas where couples could find time to be alone.

They walked in and Melaine pointed to a small table in the corner. "Why don't you go sit down and I'll order us a drink." John nodded and was about to walk away, before he could she grabbed him round the neck and dragged him down for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, just as she pulled away she bit his bottom lip and pulled on it. "Don't forget about me," she purred, turning him towards the booth and patting him on the ass.

Melaine walked up to the bar, her fedora slightly off center now, she pulled it back into place and looked at the woman beside her. "Molly!" She gasped!

Molly Hooper grinned at Sherlock's sister, Melaine had come in a number of times with her brother when he was doing an odd case here and there. She never understood why Sherlock never gave this woman a chance, she was so clearly in love with him. But Sherlock never did understand matters of the heart.

"Hello Mel!" Molly grinned. A man, quite handsome actually, but clearly gay looked over at Melaine. Perhaps not so gay, as he was clearly sizing her up. "This is my boyfriend. Jim, he's from the IT department. Is Sherlock here?"

"No," Melaine furrowed her brow, trying to read Jim from IT. He rubbed her the wrong way. It was as if he were to perfect. As if he were trying to hard, she watched him as he caressed Molly's arm. "Right then, good to see you Molly!" she said brightly, turned to the bartender and snapped her fingers. "Two whisky's please."

She turned on her heal and made her way back to the booth were John was. He had shed his jacket and was sitting against the wall and the booth. She shrugged off her own jacket and slid in beside him. Gently gripping his thigh to pull herself closer.

'I," he started, then stopped as she ran her fingers up the length of his thigh and up his chest, then up to his face. "Mel."

"Sorry," she finally looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Sorry John. You're not my toy or a game," she sighed and pulled away from him slightly as they brought the drinks. She downed her drink in one gulp, then turned to look at him again.

John watched her carefully, she seemed scared, her eyes were slightly dilated. "Whats wrong Mel?"

"You see," she began, "I like to tease Sherlock. That's what sisters are meant to do. And he told me all about his new flat mate and I was a bit jealous. Sherlock being so keen on his new friendship. And poor little Mel is left out in the cold as always." She stopped and took his shot that was still on the table.

"I'm sure Sherlock would never leave you in the cold," John took her shaking hand. "And I never would, that's for damn sure."

"But that's the thing. Both of them have left me out in the cold," she stared off into the distance, then shook her head. "Pity does not suit me Doctor, of that I am quite certain. I'm sorry," she looked directly at him. "I'll leave you alone if you like."

Melaine hadn't been in there for that long, perhaps twenty minutes. She wondered if Moriarty was still following that woman. Her heart stopped as she looked up, John was being led out by a patrol of Mycroft's guards, they had put him in a different jacket and put a hat on him.

Across the street stood Moriarty, he watched John as well. But he didn't notice her, she slipped into a group of people and crossed the street. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then she came up behind him and purred in his ear. "I thought I told you to stay in the apartment. Who is that?" She pointed at John, then caressed Moriarty's hand with her fingertips.

He turned quickly, grabbing her wrist. "How did you get away from me?" He demanded, his eyes dark and intense. She kissed his nose. He backed away in surprise, staring at her. "What are you?"

Melaine smirked, turned on her heel whilst grabbing his tie and pulling him behind her. He stumbled and followed, like a puppy on a leash. "Most likely your worst nightmare. Lets grab a drink shall we?"

They went into a pub, it was sparsely lit and smokey, it seemed to be shaded in reds, whites, and blacks. There was a gentle murmur of conversation, flitting around the room, mostly men holding whisky glasses in their hands, cigars at their lips.

All the conversation stopped as Melaine took off her coat, handing it to Moriarty as if he were her servant. She took out a small clip and slowly put her hair up into a messy bun ontop of her head, stretching her neck in a slow and languid fashion. She knew they all watched her, eating her up with their eyes.

One man stepped forward, a cigarette in his hand. She took it between her lips, never looking back at Moriarty, she could feel him at her back though, his leg pressing into hers. The man lit a match and lit the cigarette for her, she inhaled deeply, pulled it from her lips with her delicate fingers and blew out a stream of smoke. "Thanks." She whispered to the man.

"What'll you have love?" the bartender, a middle age man with salt and pepper hair and deep brown eyes stared openly at her.

Melaine still refused to look at Moriarty, he pulled the bar stool out and she slid gracefully into the seat. Taking another drag on the cigarette. "Two shots of whisky," then turned an finally looked at Moriarty. "And whatever this gentlemen wishes."

She needed the drink, having just been engaged to her brothers best friend and now trying to seduce his most powerful enemy. This day was just not turning out like she had expected. The bartender slid the whisky into her waiting hand and she downed it in a flash. Feeling the hot burn caress her throat, it was almost magical what whisky did to a very bad girl.

Moriarty watched her in amazement. He wondered if she knew how utterly enchanting she really was. Of course she did, she had to. The way she commanded everyone's presence in this room. They all held their breath as they watched her slow movements. e backeHHe bet she could get anyone of these men to do anything for her without a second thought. He wondered for a second if he would to.

He shook his head and looked at the bartender. "I'll have what she's having." Then he grabbed Melaine by the arm and dragged her to a booth in the far corner, thrusting her into one side, and sitting across from her.

Half the men stood up, ready to beat this little boy up. Melaine stood and smirked, she shook her head and they all sat down. They watched her as she slithered out of booth and went to sit beside Moriarty. She lifted his arm and sat against his side, placing his hand on her stomach and staring up at him.

"Are you mad?" she asked.

"Oh, Honey," Moriarty chuckled. "I never get mad."


End file.
